A Statement & A Sigh
by summertime227
Summary: After the night that Lydia almost gets strangled, her and Stiles have a moment at the place he has never taken anyone before, his mother's grave.


Lydia looks at the clock on her bedside table - 11:00 AM. She can't make herself get out of bed. And, why should she? Last night was a living nightmare. She was nearly strangled to death by her English teacher. Unfortunately, she has no choice but to get up. Stiles had insisted on stopping by in a little while to check on her, no matter how many times she told him she was fine. As she shuffles to her en suite bathroom to take a shower, she catches her reflection in the mirror and takes in a sharp breath. She expected the events of last night to leave a mark, but she wasn't prepared for the dark purple line that snaked around her neck. The sight makes the memory of Ms. Blake tightening a belt around her neck come flooding back. With shaky breathing and shaking hands, she turns the shower on, steps into the hot water, and lets it envelop her and her every thought.

Lydia usually dressed like a runway model, but today was definitely a baggy sweatpants kind of day. As she pulls them on, she hears a knock on the door. She pulls a plain long sleeved t-shirt over her head and starts toward her bedroom door. She is about to pull it open, but her hand hovers over the doorknob. She turns back toward her closet and pulls a sparkly pink scarf from the top shelf. It's not like she wants to hide it from anyone; she just doesn't see the use in making Stiles more worried than he already is. She wraps the scarf around her neck and goes downstairs to answer the door. She opens it and lets her gaze trail all the way from the soles of Stiles' shoes up to the top of his head, then back down a bit to his eyes. She physically feels her shoulders become slightly less tense. He's smiling, but she knows it is only for her benefit. She sees the pain and exhaustion behind his eyes, the concern for his father's life.

"Stiles." She says his name like a sigh.

"Lydia." He says her name like it is a statement, like it conveys everything he wants to say to her in one word. He searches her eyes for some sign of fear or danger.

"I'm O.K.," she assures him.

"Good. Then you can come with me," he says, gesturing to the faded blue jeep behind him.

"Where?"

"I just wanna show you someplace."

They drive in silence for a few minutes until Stiles stops.  
"We're here."

Lydia gets out of the car and walks around to Stiles' side. She follows his gaze up to the sign for the Beacon Hills Cemetery. Why did Stiles bring her here...? She isn't so sure she wants to go in there, what with her newly discovered connection to the dead. Like he is reading her mind, Stiles reaches out and links his fingers through hers. She lets him pull her forward toward the gates of the cemetery and past numerous marble mausoleums to a modest headstone. Lydia steps forward to get a better look at the name engraved into it; she reads it aloud.

"Jane Stilinski..." After a second, she makes the connection in her mind. "Your mother." She looks back at Stiles who nods and gives her a half smile. She turns back around to hide the tears that prick at the back of her eyes.

"My dad says he cant feel her here, but I can," Stiles says wistfully.

"Tell me a happy memory about her."

Stiles is silent for so long, she thinks he might have left. She is about to turn around, when he starts to speak.

"When I was 9 years old, I told my mom I wanted to paint my bedroom a different colour. We went to the paint store, but I couldn't decide what colour I wanted. We must've bought 20 cans of paint."

Lydia smiles at the thought of a 9 year old Stiles trying to carry a bunch of paint cans.

"We spent the whole day painting my room. We'd try one colour, stand back, decide we didn't like it, and then paint another swatch next to it in another colour, and another and another, until we finally saw one that we liked. By the end, my room looked like a chess board, except if the squares were all different colours. You should've seen my dad's face when he got home from work."

Stiles almost laughs at the memory.

Lydia turns around and hugs him loosely around the waist, her cheek to his chest. He hesitates a moment before putting his arms protectively around her.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"For what?"

"I don't know..."

After a couple of minutes, Lydia pulls away and they start to leave. Lydia spots a tree with pink flowers a few feet away. She all but skips to the tree, reaches up to pick one, and places it on Stiles' mother's grave, silently thanking her for raising the boy who has made her feel more safe and loved than anyone else.


End file.
